The Well of Shades Read Online Free PDF Page B

still. The vision came: the same Tuala had seen once before. Thatfirst time neitherBroichan nor the wise woman Fola, both of whom had been in attendance, had discerned it. Now she felt Broichan start. His hands gripped tightly for a moment, then relaxed again as he forced his body to obey his will.
    In the water a younger Broichan, clad in a white robe, walked a forest path in springtime. Another figure shadowed him, a slight, lovely woman whose fey eyes and milk-pale skin markedher out as one of the Good Folk, that diverse band of Otherworld people who inhabited the woodlands of the Great Glen and beyond. This person was one of Tuala’s own kind, akin to the two beings who had shown themselves to her in her childhood, interfering in her life and Bridei’s, tempting her with promises to reveal her true identity and always holding that knowledge back. She knew only thatshe’d been a foundling, an abandoned infant. If she had parents, they had never come forward to claim her, not in all the nineteen years since they had left her on Broichan’s doorstep.
    In the water, the white-clad druid looked around; he had sensed he was not alone. A voice seemed to speak, though in the candlelit chamber where Broichan and Tuala stood all was silent.
Come, my son. Come and honorme.
And, when the younger Broichan hesitated, suddenly very still on the sunlit path amid the dappled greens and golds of the springtime forest,
Come, faithful one. I require this of you.
    Tuala did not doubt that the goddess spoke. The fey woman was only a messenger. Perhaps, for this one day, she was an avatar: the earthly embodiment of the Shining One, whose own presence was ever veiled inthe daylight. The white-clad druid saw the woman. His face paled and his jaw tightened. Obedient he might be, but this was plainly difficult for him. The woman smiled. She was beguiling, her lips full and rosy, her slender figure shapely and enticing beneath the sheer fabric of her floating gown. She reached out a hand toward the druid.
    Go, my son.
The voice again, not that of this charming creaturebut a deep, strong one that made every tree in the wildwood shiver.
I call you to my service. Do you hesitate?
    The druid took the proffered hand in his. Tuala could feel his reluctance and, along with it, the coursing pull of physical desire in his body. It was customary for his kind to perform a solitary three-day vigil to mark the festival of Balance, when day and night were equal and springstirred even in the north. If the Shining One required of a believer, at such a time, a devotion expressed with the body rather than the mind, how could a faithful man hold back? If such an act felt wanton, abhorrent, lacking in self-control, he must still perform it, for at the heart of spiritual practice was the love of god and goddess, Flamekeeper and Shining One, and perfect obedience to theirwill. Indeed, he must exercise mind and body to perform it in a spirit of good faith, for to practice a rite reluctantly was to cause the goddess most bitter offense.
    The woman stepped closer. Her free hand slipped down to touch the front of the white robe, between the druid’s legs; if he was shy, she most certainly was not. Caught as she was in the vision, Tuala found herself sufficiently awareof the here and now to hope profoundly that the goddess would draw a veil over what was to come. She had called this up to illustrate her theory to Broichan, not to embarrass and shame him.
    The water swirled; the image broke up into brief glimpses, snatches of sight: here a white hand on the plane of thigh or back or chest; here a sensuous mouth, lips parted, tongue moving to lap and lick, totaste and tease; here muscular buttocks clenching and unclenching; here long fingers stroking, playing, clearly not fettered by lack of experience. They were in a grove. They lay on the druid’s white robe, which was spread in a grassy hollow. The woman’s gown hung from a willow branch, its gauzy fabric as